


In the Dead Silence of Winter

by classics_above_classics



Series: Alice Dorothy and Stories Set Elsewhere [19]
Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Starving Spaces, Winter, that's going to have to be a full-on tag now i swear, the Fair Folk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 08:23:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21250355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classics_above_classics/pseuds/classics_above_classics
Summary: Winter the first.(They are beginning to wonder if Lento will be anywhere.)





	In the Dead Silence of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> ... I am ungodly levels of late with this one.
> 
> Well, screw that. Time to reread the whole series and see if I can find somewhere cool to go with this!

It is almost unbearably cold when Lyric-Weaver gets to Winter.

They can’t quite explain why, but their steps seem faster somehow, as they approach the border. If they reach out and listen, they can hear their steps in time with the human rhythm, a deep, quick bass beat that reverberates loudly even Underhill. They walk closer in time to the humans now. It’s an odd, almost heady thought.

They know why it happens, of course. The barrier between worlds is always thinner when Samhain approaches. And if they are counting the passing days right, it is almost that familiar day.

They want to return before midnight on Samhain. Perhaps it is nothing but sentimentality, or some silly wish that they cannot speak aloud, but they want to see the University’s festivities. They know it involves sweets. They know it involves costumes. Will Connor be wearing one? Will the Debt-Breaker?

They suppose they should probably learn her safename. But that’s a non-issue here.

Still, time is passing faster. It is passing in time with humanity. The feeling, as it always has, turns their stomach a little. They have to force themselves not to slow down. Slowing their own pace won’t slow the pace of time. They can’t do a thing against it yet.

“We’re almost at Winter,” Ban quips, as if they cannot see the border a mere hundred feet before them. “You worried, Summer tree? It’s practically freezing there, for someone as warm as you.”

“I do not fear the Winter lands.” It would be more accurate to say that they fear what is in them. But that is not something they can tell the crow-boy. Not without him laughing at them again. They don’t like it when he laughs at them. It feels so condescending that they can’t put it into words.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the crow-boy sighs. “A little fear goes a long way.”

“It’s more distrust and disgust than anything,” Lyric-Weaver shoots back. That’s enough to startle an actual laugh out of Ban, one that doesn’t mean to mock them. They think they might like it. Maybe. It’s hard to tell, when Ban’s exactly the kind of person they find hard to like.

“Oh, that’s a mood. Winter’s never been as warm and cuddly as anyone likes. Far too many starving spaces there.” Ban shakes his head. “Hey. If I walk into any of them, are you up for pulling me out? Apparently those starving spaces can’t handle Summer and Spring. Just heat me up a bit and I’ll be good as new.”

“Starving spaces?” Like… places that made the humans like- like those starving, wasted things? Fae can be trapped there?

They can’t help but shudder at the thought.

“Of course I’d be willing to pull you out,” they swear. They don’t think they could let anyone be trapped in those. Not even this odd, mad crow.

Ban shoots them a crooked grin. “I had a feeling. You really are a pleasant thing, Lyric-Weaver.”

“And have you met very many unpleasant things?” they shoot back. “You speak like you have. You act like you haven’t.” He’s far too casual for them to truly believe he’s met very many unpleasant people.

“Far too many,” Ban responds. “It’s possible that I’ve met more unpleasant people than there are stars in the sky. Though I really wouldn’t bet on that.”

“Really?” Lyric-Weaver raises an eyebrow. “I’d say you haven’t met enough.”

“And you?” Ban asks. “Is everyone you’ve met very pleasant? Or, at the very least, pleasant to you?”

“… I suppose.” They are young, after all, enough that most of the older fae they’ve met treat them like they’re a sapling and not almost grown. And the humans, when not friendly- they really should stop thinking that word; it always just reminds them of their _friend_\- when not affable, they are at least polite. “I’ve always been surrounded by pleasant people. I’ve been lucky in that regard, at least.”

They can’t exactly think of anyone truly unpleasant. Past the girl Lento, of course. She’s entirely unpleasant now. Perhaps the Fiddler changeling? But they seemed pleasant enough, if as brash and feckless as they can expect from a human-raised fae. Everyone they’ve met was, at least to some degree, pleasant.

“It’ll be lonely all the way past the Winter borders, then. No pleasant people to be found on the outskirts.” The mirth has died down a little from Ban’s expression, shifting into something softer, something sadder. “Do you need any company?”

“I don’t _need_-”

“Right, right. Of course you don’t.” It doesn’t sound teasing. More like a concession. Like a peace offering. “Never mind that. Would you like some company anyway?”

“… What?”

Lyric-Weaver turns, staring up at the crow-boy meeting their gaze without as much as a blink. Why would he want to come with them? What could he possibly want in Winter?

They want to ask him outright.

They do not.

“If you’re still raring to go,” they joke, smiling cheerfully to cover up their confusion, “then by all means, follow. It’ll be nice having a songbird in all that snow.”

“You’re a riot, Lyric-Weaver.” Ban grins. “Metaphorically, of course. I appreciate the permission.”

Maybe he’ll be useful in Winter. If Samhain really is coming closer, then it should be almost the peak of Autumn’s power. If they stay near the borders, and if Ban walks first as if they are the one following him, perhaps the Winter fae will leave them be. So long as they do not disturb, they will be permitted to pass.

And besides even that, Ban is a crow. Even those in Winter know that there is something off about the crows. They dare not say it to any of the birds’ faces, but everyone knows that, even just subconsciously. The crows are not to be bothered without reason. A crow is a dangerous enemy to make. And a very useful friend.

Wait. Have they…?

They couldn’t possibly have gained this crow-boy’s favour. They have done nothing for him. Lyric-Weaver shakes the thought away, advancing forward towards the cold of the border.

⋈  
Winter, more than anything, feels dead.

It's not quite hyperbole, Lyric-Weaver muses, staring out at the empty space before them. The trees here are withering, the plants wilting. Something about this place makes them feel like withering, too, the cold biting in a way even Autumn does not do. Even Ban is shivering a little in this space, walking a little closer to them and their Summer warmth.

If anything, that's what worries them the most in this scenario. They're Summer, bright and blooming. They do not know the cold. It doesn't seep quite into their bones like it does the Winter fae, the Autumn. By all rights, Ban should be the more comfortable one here. And yet he is shivering.

It isn't comfortable in the slightest. They should just make their deal and go.

_Who do I strike a Deal with, in this empty place?_ Despite their determination, this is still something that Lyric-Weaver wonders. There is no-one to make Deals _with_. The open field is empty, even the fresh-fallen snow untouched. This whole world feels deader and emptier than it is. More, it feels as if they have entered in a bad place. This section of Winter is even more hollow than that draining, starving space in Autumn.

Perhaps that is why it is so empty. This whole place practically reeks starvation.

Ban steps a little closer, his human semblance seeming to grip their hand. They do not feel his fingers. Instead, they feel a bird alight on their branches, talons gripping the living wood tight. His semblance is weaker here. And so is theirs. They are not at all supposed to be here. They have crossed a threshold, weak as it it. Even their magic knows it.

"Be careful," they warn Ban, as if this is something he needs to be told. "Whatever this place is, it is empty."

"Of course it is. It's the worst part of Winter, after all." Like that was something they knew. "I'll keep your advice in mind."

"The worst part of Winter?" Where _are_ they, then? What is so bad that it must be empty?

"We're walking by a starving space," the crow-boy warns worriedly once they turn to meet his eyes. His talons clutch just a little tighter at the branches of their arm. "I'd prefer not to let go."

It makes sense, at the least. If they were a fae of the reasonably weak Autumn, they'd be holding Summer close, too. They can't imagine how what it could possibly feel like to starve.

... Ah. A starving space? Could the girl Lento have been caught in one?

"Is there a way to search starving spaces?" Lyric-Weaver asks.

Perhaps it was a risky question. Ban is staring at them with wide eyes, his fingers- talons- grippinng tighter on their branches. "I- What? You want to search the starving spaces? Isn't that what makes this part of Winter so dangerous in the first place? Tell me, summer tree, that we aren't going to do that."

"I doubt I could say that," they respond. There's a building fear in Ban's dark eyes.

"You-"

"You're free to leave," they say quickly. The crow looks one wrong move away from taking off. "I wouldn't mind. I could take you back to Autumn if you like."

"Would you try to make a Deal with the fae stuck in those spaces?" Apparently their silence lasts a second too long, because Ban lets out a short, sharp croak of a laugh. "Of course you would. Lyric-Weaver, summer tree, whatever the hell you are- that's the riskiest idea I've ever heard."

"Watch your words," Lyric-Weaver warns him. They could just as easily leave him here to waste away.

"Do you want to help them?" Ban asks again. This time, they really don't have an answer.

After a long, stretching silence, the crow-boy sighs, taking a longing look towards the fading orange-red of Autumn. It must be so blank here, Lyric-Weaver muses, to someone born and alive within that bright burst of colour. Does he want to go back? Does he want to go home? They really would return him if he only asked. From the way even his semblance shivered, they doubt he'd ever refuse.

"This is a terrible idea," Ban groans, turning back to them. "I'll follow after you, then. If you'll have me, of course, in your little travelling party."

...What?

"You don't _have _to-"

"I want to," the crow cuts in. "There are students lost in there, too. I'd like to see if there are any I could reasonably lead back home."

Lyric-Weaver fixes him with the blankest look they can muster. He responds with a strained, pointed grin.

"Fine. I'll have you." There's a claim in those words, too, a half-ownership they can hold over Ban. They're testing their luck, to be honest. They don't entirely understand the choice their companion is making, but if it means he'll follow after them, they aren't going to refuse him.

"I appreciate it." Ban steps just a bit closer, staring apprehensively towards an opening where the air is just that bit colder, just a bit emptier. A starving space, then. Even against their warmth, it bites.

"I doubt you'll be alright."

"Oh, it's a doubt we both share," Ban laughs. "That's why you're here, see? If I end up being as unsafe as we both think I'll be, you can fix that right up. Just fill me with some warm Summer magic and I'll be right as rain."

"I have no idea what that means."

"I'll be fine. Just use some magic. Get me warm. That's how I think it works with those humans, too." There's something in his eyes that makes Lyric-Weaver doubt this is just about leading students home. He looks like he's... watching them. Judging them, more than anything.

They don't say that. He doesn't explain, either. A silent understanding.

"I'll be sure to do that," they agree. It is, perhaps, a risky game, daring to enter a space that drains him dry, but his choices are not theirs to make. If he wishes to put his life and sanity on the line, it is not their place to deny him.

They loop a vine carefully around Ban's semblance's hand, keeping him close as they disappear into the heart of a starving space.


End file.
